I'd had to cut meat, of course.
And in most cases of my life, that meat was already dead. Or I made it that way. Cases where I had to cut fellow combatants in field conditions to save their lives were plentiful too.
But then the conditions were different. Field medicine in my time wasn't very advanced, of course, but with service time comes the necessary experience. Interaction with more experienced comrades helped improve knowledge in survival.
Now, however, I had to perform medical intervention on an alien human's body with a knife disinfected at best with water from a flask. And all this on the floor of an alien flying craft millions and billions of kilometers from the planet where I was born.
Tools only a knife, scanner. Painkillers only the patient's fortitude. Antiseptic in the form of prayer also unlikely useful equipment. And who knows when the Wraith will sit on our tail again.
Of course, what could be simpler?!
Honestly, I was even repulsed by how easily Alvar decided to entrust me with this. To bare his back to a complete stranger, and even put his own knife in his hands...
One needed great courage for that.
Or recklessness. Who knows, maybe I'm a local analog of "gray little men" and already prepared chloroform and an anal probe?
But something told me the Runner was just using his chance, which doesn't fall to everyone. In this galaxy, there's a direct and overt threat—the Wraith. They are enemies of all humans in the galaxy. And people know that. Therefore, judging by Jensen's stories, helping a person in trouble is customary among local humans who are somewhat more developed than simple hunter-gatherers.
Thanks to the scanner, I knew the exact spot to millimeter where to make the incision. Cut the flesh, penetrate through muscles to the spine, and with one alien technology fry another. What could be simpler?
What was the point of helping this man?
At first glance, he was completely unnecessary to me. Just a random person who happened to be nearby. Quite possible he's not who he claims. Maybe he's a Wraith trap, one of their servants and worshippers?
Maybe.
But the latter doesn't hold up to criticism.
The circumstances of our meeting are far from ideal, of course. But the very fact that I arrived on the planet where he was already being hunted spoke for itself. If the Wraith knew Atlantis wasn't abandoned, they wouldn't stage such shows. Especially on a planet I might not even reach.
No, I think this guy is a Runner.
And that means he has motive to hate the Wraith.
His planet is destroyed, its population became food for pale-faced cosplay goths from the early 2000s. He has no home, no friends, no support.
He's a loner. And I'm a loner.
Only I can provide him shelter, weapons, and gear. At minimum, the Ancient blaster interested him. No wonder, such power. He didn't catch my small deception that all technologies work from the Gene—he'll at least exchange information for help.
Despite the stock of Puddle Jumpers, I couldn't give him such a ship. He's supposedly a pilot, but couldn't pilot it in my absence. But a blaster "after minor modifications" he could appreciate as a valuable gift.
In return, I could get the information I need.
Gate addresses where peaceful farmers and agrarians live who could supply me with food, for example. The same Athosians in known events outright revered the Ancients, hated the Wraith, and easily went into contact for safe shelter. And there could be dozens of such peoples.
Atlantis's address database is ten thousand years outdated. Who lives on those planets now can't be checked without reconnaissance. And conducting it myself, regularly leaving the city empty, isn't the best option.
If I had an ally who wouldn't betray, things would go much faster.
And by "things" I mean the direct work for which I ended up here.
Ancient technologies, even ships like Atlantis, can be controlled by one person. If there are a few years, one can assimilate their knowledge, repair the city oneself, find more ZPMs and head to the Milky Way, learn everything and... What will be after "and" I don't know yet.
But that's irrational.
In known events, as soon as Atlantis surfaced, during a Wraith raid they landed assault in the city. Hundreds and hundreds of soldiers wandering the city and feeding on people—that's another development option.
Allies are needed.
I roughly know how to enlist help from advanced humans in this galaxy, but everything rests on resources and help. Remember, the expedition, even with help and galaxy information from the same Athosians, regularly got into trouble. And barely got out. Sometimes a whole squad or the entire Atlantis population was needed.
If I stayed alone, it would be oh so not sweet for me. I can't stay under personal shield protection constantly either—the whole body itches already, and hair stands on end. Such technologies, like many others, aren't designed for constant operation.
Therefore, at minimum, I should try to recruit this guy as an ally. He's from an advanced world, former military who knows a lot. He can teach me piloting and introduce me to other galaxy dwellers. Not to mention what might remain interesting in his world.
Take his weapon, for example. Like the knife I'm now driving into his skin. Easily and effortlessly, like a surgical scalpel, it cut the skin. A bit of blood is no problem for me, naturally.
At the same time, it's worth noting that the knife really isn't just a crude "stamping." Yes, it was clearly factory-made. And not anyhow, but every little thing was thought out.
Comfortable handle, sturdy blade, honed to razor sharpness edge. Plus wire cutters in the handle. All this indicates that the creators of this weapon clearly thought through their product.
And that's very good.
Picture from the Internet. Say, the knife of Alvar Jensen looks roughly like this.
However, his assault rifle also represents a fairly interesting weapon variant. In the series, I saw only a few types of local firearms. And what Alvar used resembled none of them.
More like a hybrid of earthly FAMAS with composite materials. Which is very, very good from the point of view of their science development.
In the series, very few races were shown that could match or surpass Earthlings in technology level. The Wraith never allowed that, because an advanced civilization is a threat.
And here...
Honestly, I didn't know if I'd find more Ancient weapons or ammo on Atlantis, if I could recharge the crystals after they deplete their reserves. And if there's somewhere to get more familiar firearms from my youth, even relatively familiar at least externally... That would be good support for my plans.
Yes, you can't kill a Wraith with one or two bullets. But with short bursts—very much so.
Jensen's assault rifle.
"What are you digging around there for?" the Runner grumbled. "We don't have much time left."
"Do you want to get rid of this thing, or spend the rest of your life as a bug-eyed paralyzed freak?" I inquired, using the back of the blade to slightly push the muscles aside. It didn't work very well.
I'd have to act differently.
Concentrating, I activated the personal shield. I turned it off as soon as I got on the ship—no spares, and I didn't want to test empirically how long the charge would last. Not to mention I don't know how to recharge it or if it's possible at all.
Inserting fingers into the wound, I tensed, separating the back muscles from the subspace transmitter material. The Wraith secured it so the power source was closer to the spine. A smart move if you don't want to lose the device from the Runner's accidental fall. Or protection from an easy way to disable the transmitter.
"What, you're shoving wires into my back?" the Runner spoke up.
"I'm going to short the transmitter's power element," I had to explain the reason I inserted one contact into the wound. "The overload should burn it out and make the device inoperable."
"Couldn't you just give me the contacts in hand?" Jensen asked. "If an electric shock is needed..."
In the series, a similar operation was done with a defibrillator. But I don't have such equipment at hand. In the absence of the stamped... we disassemble the most complex extraterrestrial handheld.
The Runner's suggestion is, of course, the most reasonable. But not knowing his physiology and the battery charge power, I could really stop his heart. And according to scanner data, between the transmitter's power element and the spine there's a dielectric layer.
At least if I understood the translation correctly.
"It'll be fine," I lied.
In the worst case, this guy can die. But if it works...
As soon as I connected the second contact to the tracker's power source, the Runner arched like a bow. A short circuit flash sounded, it smelled of burning, and my shield charged with energy for a moment.
Pulling out the wires, ignoring the teeth-grinding man, I brought the scanner to his back.
The device read new data, the picture with the spine and the enemy device appeared... But now it was highlighted dark gray, not red. And the Ancient text delighted me outright.
"It worked," I exhaled. "The device is inactive."
"I thought you decided to fry me," the Runner rose from the floor, reaching back with his hand. But naturally, achieved nothing but smearing his hands in his own blood. "You didn't just disable it temporarily, right?"
I don't think Wraith technologies are so magnificent that they can survive this and recover.
"We'll check in a bit," I promised. Looking at the virtual screen, I noticed several red dots near us. "Wraith are close. Time to go."
"Agreed."
While the Runner tore his T-shirt, turning it into makeshift dressing for the wound, I returned to the pilot's seat. Not too neatly, but still lifting the Puddle Jumper into the air, I checked if the camouflage worked, then sped away at maximum speed from the place where the Wraith could catch the last beacon signal.
At the same time, launching the scanners, I couldn't hold back when I got the response.
"How bad is it?" Jensen asked, sitting next to me.
"One hive in orbit is gone," I explained. ""Darts" are way fewer—only a dozen. And they're prowling far from us. Looks like they're inspecting the underground chamber roof blast site."
"The one you climbed out of?" the now former Runner clarified.
"Exactly. But we won't fly there," I decided.
"Why? What if there's something else useful there?"
"There's nothing there but dust and the mustiness of centuries," I replied, directing the Puddle Jumper toward the gate.
The plan, except for meeting Jensen, worked perfectly.
Scanning the soil, boosting sensors at the cost of huge energy consumption from the Jumper's power source, I detected cavities away from the stone building. Quite a few cavities. But only one had a flat geometric rectangular shape, indicating its artificiality.
And that was already a sign.
Blowing the roof so none of the wide walls were damaged, I descended the formed chute down. And almost immediately found what I was looking for. A room carved in the ground, walls lined with clay bricks. In the center stood a pedestal with a platform on which plates needed to be assembled in a certain order. And the latter were scattered all around. And I had no desire to look for them.
By the logic of the Brotherhood or whoever created this trap for them, each plate had its number—from one to nine. They needed to be assembled so each side summed to a certain number. And only then would the ZPM hidden in the wall stucco reveal itself to the world.
Frame from the series. That's what that very stucco looked like. Five circles around the central element look like the end face of a ZPM.
Reasonably assuming unlikely Ancient involvement in creating this test, I recalled the ZPM was behind one of the five round covers. Immediately remembered the five ZPMs promised by Janus to the expedition leader...
Five there, five here... Coincidence?
Honestly, I really hoped not. Therefore, knocking off the round covers, I hoped to find more than one power source there. Didn't work. Four decorative circles were just patterns without cavities behind them where a ZPM could be hidden.
But in the fifth...
ZPM in the stucco cell.
Too bad not five pieces, but even one would be quite enough for some time. About three thousand years or so. Of course, if not using city systems.
Now one of the most capacious energy storage devices in this and the neighboring galaxy lay in the locker in the cargo hold of the ship.
The closer I got to the gate, the more I worried. Now, with the danger of being tracked gone, I wanted nothing more than to return to the city as soon as possible.
"No Wraith at the gate," Alvar noted.
I didn't see red dots on the ground or in the air either. Moreover—the gate were off. Yes, two kilometers from us there were two Darts, and half that distance a group of Wraith infantry. But they had no chance to intercept us.
"Your ship flies through the Ancestors' Ring, right?" the former Runner inquired. "By size it should fit. And the dialing device here clearly isn't for beauty," he pointed to the console with symbols separating us.
"Not for beauty," I agreed. "Do you know addresses of any planets where there are definitely no Wraith?"
"I won't promise, but the Genii seem quiet..."
The Runner reached for the keys, but I intercepted his hand.
"What's the matter?" he inquired.
"Genii are out," I explained. "Other places?"
"What, afraid of farmers?" Jensen wondered. "Genii are peaceful guys, grow beans and..."
"Have you been to the planet Taranis?" I asked.
"First time hearing," the Runner admitted.
"Sateda?" I continued testing my luck.
"Heard of it, but never been."
"Hoff?" I rummaged through known names in memory.
"Never heard."
"Athos?"
The Runner squinted at me.
Okay, worth a try.
"You don't want me flying with you to your world, right?" he asked.
"I'm not against allies, Alvar, but now I have several problems to solve," I said. "So I planned to drop you on a quiet planet, handle things at home, then return. And we'd agree on everything. I could use a competent soldier."
"Well, of course," Jensen snorted, touching the first key on the Puddle Jumper's dialing device with his finger.
"Hey!" I tensed. "What are you doing?"
Meanwhile, blue lights lit on the angular chevrons of the gate. The Puddle Jumper noted the growing energy volume accumulated by the gate.
"Dialing the Athosians' address," he replied. "You know... I'm not against your plan. But keep in mind, kid. If you intend to cooperate, I don't like secrets. And knowing a planet's name but not its address, especially Athos, a known spot for farmers and traders... You'd have to try hard. So if you want to cooperate, try at least to come up with a plausible story for your quirky behavior. And yes, I'm curious what that crystalline thing was you went for in the underground right under the Wraith's nose."
The energy burst from the activated gate coincided with a warning that two Wraith "Darts" were heading our way.
"I'll think about your terms," directing the ship toward the gate, I noted that the camouflage dropped against my will. Apparently, the Puddle Jumper can't fly through the gate camouflaged.
Emerging on the other side a microscopic interval later, I steered the ship away from the gate. The "puddle" in their center dispersed, as did the hyper tunnel connecting night Athos with the Brotherhood's planet.
"I'll stay on the planet three days," Jensen said, rising from the console. He went to the cargo hold, grabbed his weapons, and exited immediately as I lowered the ramp.
Without saying goodbye, he headed away from the Puddle Jumper.
Watching him, I couldn't help smirking as I hermetically sealed the Puddle Jumper, returning the ramp to place.
The guy fit the old proverb well: "Tough guys don't look back."
Waiting until he disappeared behind the trees, I turned the ship. Life signal detection systems indicated he had moved more than two hundred meters from the Puddle Jumper and continued heading deeper into the forest.
Excellent. Means he won't see the symbols I dialed and won't learn Atlantis's address. And no other living organisms nearby. Means there's a chance to keep my secret.
Dialing the city-ship's gate address, I waited for the energy vortex, then with a light heart directed the Puddle Jumper into the wormhole.
In the next instant, familiar outlines of the Atlantis Gate Room struck my eyes. Exhaling that my first adventure in the Pegasus galaxy wasn't the last, I leaned back in the chair, letting the automatic landing program lift the Jumper to the upper bay.
And only then, taking the ZPM from the locker, I pressed the button to open the ship's entry hatch.
As soon as the metal strip moved away from the opening, a painfully familiar disgusting sound pierced my ears. Repeating for a couple of seconds, it, like looped, continued tearing my brain with its strain and alienness.
"This day couldn't end without some thrown shit, right?!" I gritted through my teeth, rushing to the exit.
I don't know what happened, but I don't like it. At minimum for one reason—the self-destruct siren was wailing in the city.
***
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